


Duck!

by fangirl6202



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Detectives, Domestic Fluff, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage, Modern Era, Morning Kisses, References to Drugs, Sobriety, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 18:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20840099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl6202/pseuds/fangirl6202
Summary: Sitting in a random holding cell in Manhattan, Racetrack Higgins sighed. Getting arrested hadn't been in his itinerary when he walked out of the apartment this morning, but hey! He had nothing better to do.-----Racetrack Higgins is an idiot who doesn't know how to keep himself out of trouble and Spot Conlon has the absolute pleasure of making his acquaintance in some, uh, unusual circumstances.





	Duck!

Sitting in a random holding cell in Manhattan, Antonio "Racetrack" Higgins sighed. Getting arrested hadn't been in his itinerary when he walked out of the apartment this morning, but hey! He had nothing better to do. 

Race hadn't been arrested for his_ usual _thing, but for a much more noble, much more _stupid _reason. His brothers (and roommates) wouldn't be happy about, but Race didn't focus on that. He focused on the fact that he now had an accomplice!

A very cute accomplice, one who wasn't speaking to him at the moment and was instead looking at the bars of their shared holding cell with a look of worry on his perfect face. He was built, that much was obvious even though he had layers on, with a haircut that screamed _military _to Race. 

They had been thrown in around an hour ago, and Race's high had sadly worn off by then. To pass the time, he had hummed _Toxic _by Brittney Spears, eating the pretty stranger up with his eyes, while his unknown accomplice paced like a maniac. The both of them had settled down now, though neither spoke to the other. 

"So…

The word was out of Race's mouth before he could stop himself. It was probably stupid to attempt a conversation, given the circumstance Race had gotten them into, but the (_ stunningly _attractive) stranger had already turned his head towards him

"...I'm guessing you're not from New York." 

It was more of a statement than a question: Race had been born a New Yorker so he knew that anyone like the man sitting next to him was anything but.

"You're wrong," the man responded, surprising Racetrack. "Born in Brooklyn. What makes you think otherwise?" 

Race wasn't entirely expecting the man to respond, so he thought on it for a second before answering: "You still have a heart." 

It came out _way more flirtatious _than he meant, the nonchalance he was going for falling short, but he _totally _meant it. Just a teeny bit of embarrassment, he didn't even know he still felt that emotion, was definitely worth it though; The man's mouth fell open, gaping like a cute itty bitty fish. 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. Most people would have walked away, but you stayed and helped. Even when the cops showed up."

"That's cause most New Yorkers are pieces of shit," the man grumbled, though Race could see the corners of his mouth turning. 

The snort and giggle that left Race was purely unintentional, grinning like a mad man. "Fucking hell, you're right, baby boy. Shitty city filled with shitty people," he said, taking way too much pleasure in seeing the other man's face heat up. 

Before he could continue their conversation, a man he happened to know very well came up to their cell. "Race," he said in a tone meant to sound irritated but held a note of affection. And how could it not? Charlie Morris had known Race for years and had been in love with his brother for a majority of that time. "He said he'll be here as soon as he can, but it might be another hour or two." 

That was to be expected. His brother was the type of man who threw himself into his work and he probably wanted to teach Race a lesson, the bastard. He smiled at him nonetheless. "Thank you, Crutchie!"

With a small smile, the detective who was definitely in love with his brother but refused to admit it walked away, leaving Racetrack and the stranger alone once again. 

"Race?" The man said, breaking the silence after a few moments. 

"Yes?" He asked, turning to face him.

"No, I meant, is that your name?" The stranger asked, eyes squinting a little.

"Yes."

"What the fuck kind of name is Race?"

"Well, Its actually _Racetrack_, stranger," he said with a cheeky grin, extending a hand. "And yours?"

The man extended his own hand, shaking Race's. "Spot."

He let out a laugh, not able to contain it inside himself. "And you're making fun of _me_?!"

Racetrack realized a second too late that pissing this dude off wasn't a very good idea considering that he could easily beat the shit out of him with little to no effort.

Luckily, the newly dubbed Spot just huffed out a laugh. "Dumb highschool nickname my friends haven't let me forget. But my name is Sean. Sean Conlon."

He thought that was kind of...cute. He smiled, only then letting go of "Spot's" hand.

"Well, it's's a pleasure to meet you, _Spot_."

\-----

Racetrack doubled over, tears streaming down his face as the two held onto each other as they broke down into fits of laughter.

"Y-You're kidding!" He choked out, laughing so hard tears were obscuring his vision. 

"I swear to God!" Spot replied in between shallow breaths, clutching his stomach. "My entire troops' hair was pink for a week!" 

Just a couple hours beforehand, Racetrack never would have expected to be getting along so well with an army man, but here he was, laughing over the pranks and mishaps that had happened over his two tours in Afghanistan. The two were sent into another fit of laughter, laughing so hard that neither saw the fed up Detective approach their holding cell. 

"Anthony!" The man said, startling said almost-convict and Spot. "What the hell did you and your junkie friend do?"

Their laughter subsided. 

"Excuse me?" Spot said, a look of indignation on his face as he stood. "_Junkie?" _

_Oh no. _

The Detective was shocked at the response, a look a surprise grazing his face for a second before being replaced with one of annoyance. "Yeah. You hang around with him? You'd _have _to be a junkie."

"Officer-"

'Detective," both men said, one in warning and the other in aid. Race wasn't sure he wanted to see how this situation turned out. 

"_ Detective," _Spot stressed, though there was an underlying threat in the single word. "I would prefer it if you don't disrespect me _or _this man again." 

"What has he done to _earn _my respect?" He retorted, confusion obvious in his voice and honestly? Race was confused too. Was Spot...standing up for him? For _him?!_

"He hasn't done _anything _for you to talk about him like that!" 

"He's done _plenty, _buddy. You don't know the half of it." 

"That doesn't give you the right to speak to him like that!" 

"Ok, I'm going to let that one go, but don't you dare think--" 

"I did _not _finish two tours in Afghanistan to be threatened by the likes of you!" 

_Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no. _

"Oh a soldier boy!" He exclaimed and Race knew he had to intervene. "Well alright big guy, why don't we--" 

"_Jesus Christo!__" _Race interjected, throwing his hands up in the air and surprising both men into silence. "Is this because I didn't wash the dishes?!" 

"What_?" _was asked in a very confused tone at the same time Detective Jack Kelly yelled out a frustrated, "_Yes!" _

Of course it was. The Detective was hard, sure, but he wasn't a _dick. _This rudeness had nothing to do with Spot and everything to do with Race... and maybe he had angered him just a _tad _bit over not doing his part of the chores. He groaned, dragging his face down before pointing an accusatory finger at the detective. "I _told _you I'd do them when I got home!" 

"And yet you _didn't _! I know for a fact you didn't and had Ro' do it because he was eating _pancakes _this morning!" 

_Ok _, Racetrack thought. _Now I'm screwed. _All throughout their childhood, his baby brother Romeo was the lookout and cover up for all of Race’s shenanigans, but to this day, Romeo hated keeping secrets and was horrible at it anyways. After anything happened that made him even the slightest bit of remorse, he would stress-make enough pancakes to feed an entire army. _Every. Single. Time._

"Oh that doesn't prove anything, _Detective." _He spat out.

"You _know _Ro' only eats pancakes when he's feeling guilty! And what could he be feeling guilty about?!"

Knowing he lost, Race lowered his head and didn’t meet his hard gaze. "...the crushing void of existentialism?"

"The fact that he's covering you for not washing _the fucking dishes!" _

Race deflated, looking up to the ceiling before meeting the detective's eyes. "I'm sorry? It won't happen again?" 

Jack sighed, bringing out a set of keys and opening the door. "I wish I believed that, Racer." 

Racetrack waltzed out, bringing the detective into his arms and patting his back. "There there honeybunch, it'll be ok."

"Let me go or I'll break your arm." 

Spot cleared his throat, looking confused and awkward and all around adorable as he looked between the two of them. "Am I, uh, missing something here?" 

Race grinned at him, throwing an arm around the detective's shoulder. "Jack meet Spot. Spot, meet Jack. My brother." 

"This is your brother?" He asked, looking between the two of them. Race knew what he was thinking because the two of them looked absolutely nothing alike. It was also a bit of an odd conundrum that Racer had too many addictions to count while his brother was steadily climbing through the ranks of the NYPD. 

Before he could explain, Jack snorted and shoved his arm off of him. "He's adopted."

He couldn't help but glare at that. "Dumbass, we were _all _adopted."

"Shut up."

Usually the inclusion of "_ all _" gained more odd looks and questions, but it appeared Spot had other plans. "I don't care if he's your brother or not, I want him to apologize." 

Race's smile faltered, glancing over to his brother with a rare serious look on his face. "He's right, Jack. Calling him a junkie was out of line." 

"What? No, I want him to apologize to _you. _Brother or not, he shouldn't talk to you like that." 

It was Race's turn to be surprised. Never, _never, _had someone other than his family actually stood up for him. Strangers on the street rarely gave him a second glance and yet this man he hadn't known for more than two hours was standing up to an armed police officer for him. 

Did that turn him on? Yeah, maybe just a little.

His brother and Spot stood in silence, staring at each other so intensely that Race readied himself to stop whatever fight would certainly ensure. He hadn't even realized that Spot was so _short, _only reaching past his shoulder, yet there was no doubt in his mind that Jack was currently the smaller man.

"My brother's right," he said, and Race thought his heart wouldn't be able to take any more surprises that day. "I overstepped and I'm sorry. I'm...I'm glad Anthony has someone like you looking out for him." 

With a nod, Spot raised his own hand and the two shook.

20 minutes later, Spot and Race sat in the back of Jack's cruiser at his insistance that the least he could do was give them a lift, anywhere they wanted. Staring out the window, it hit Race suddenly that this was the end. Spot would be dropped off wherever he lived, he would go home, and the two would never interact again. The thought filled Race with sorrow and he didn't want it to happen… Never before had he clicked that quickly with someone, if felt as if they had known each other their entire lives.

"Do you wanna grab breakfast?" 

The question was out of his mouth before he could properly think it through and the second he said it, he wanted to open the car’s door and roll onto the road for anyone to run him over. What was he thinking?! He must have been insane, but some sick part of him was praying Spot would accept. 

For a moment, a _terrible _long moment, Spot only stared at him.

_This is it _, Race thought. _He's going to leave and I'm never going to see him again. _He had misread the situation. He must have! No one as perfect and brave and attractive as Spot would ever--

"You a mind reader, Racer? S'just about to ask you the same thing" Spot said, and for the first time that entire morning, he was _smiling._

Race smiled back at him, only barely catching Jack's eyeroll in the rearview mirror. Without saying a word, Jack pulled over on the side of the street. He looked back at them, looking more amused than annoyed. "Please, do me a favor and get out. I don't need to see my little brother making out with someone in my car. 

With a laugh, Race threw the door open and grabbed Spot's wrist to pull him behind him. Launching a mad grin to Jack, Race began running down the streets of New York in the direction of his favorite breakfast place. 

"_ Where are we going?!" _He heard Spot holler over the street noise, and Race could only laugh back. 

"_ The future!" _

_\-----_

Racetrack Higgins woke up to soft music filtering through his house, the sweet scent of coffee, and a kiss. Moaning, he blindly reached a hand up and cupped a familiar face, bringing his partner down to him, their (shirtless, he noticed happily) bodies fitting perfectly against each other.

He broke off the kiss after a moment, opening his eyes slowly to meet those gorgeous brown eyes he had fallen so hard for. 

"Well, good morning to you, Mr. Conlon-Higgins," Race breathed out, relishing in the beautiful laugh he was met with. 

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Conlon Higgins." Sean said, a soft smile on his lips as he looked down at Anthony. "Sleep well?" 

"Didn't sleep a wink," he cheekily replied, slyly bringing his other hand to the man's ass and squeezing. "Not that I minded." 

The two men laughed with each other, and Spot cupped Race's face to kiss him again. With Spot snaking his free hand into Race's curls, he felt more content than he had his whole life. _God_, how did he get so lucky? The pair had now been together 3 years, and now they were 2 weeks into proudly displaying their wedding rings in their brand new house that they hadn't even finished furnishing. Their kitchen and living room was still littered with cardboard boxes, but it was _theirs_. Marriage was something he never thought he'd get to enjoy, but now he couldn't imagine life without Spot in it.

Spot who held him close at night, who looked at him like he was a precious jewel, who had the body of a God, who fucked him so well like his life depended on it, who brought him coffee every morning, who never once judged him for his drug addiction. Sean was the best part of Race's life and one he now refused to live without. 

Suddenly, Spot's alarm went off and Race could feel him smile. Speaking against his lips, he murmured out a sweet, "Happy one year, baby." 

Race jolted back, immediately thinking the worse. _Fuck_. What anniversary did he forget? Fuck fuck fuck fuck--- oh. _Oh_. The realization hit him like a bullet. "Holy shit, _today_?" 

"Yeah, baby, it's today." Spot replied, and he nodded his head towards their bedside table. Reaching over, he grabbed his phone and showed Racer the screen. 

_ **Alarm: 9:33 a.m. March 7, 2021 - Note: You did it!** _

At first, the words didn't sink in, and when they did, Race began to laugh. It was soft , but quickly turned into hysteria, and he buried his face in his husband's shoulder as the emotions boiled over to the surface. Gripping onto Sean, he felt the waves of emotions rack through his body. The tears springing to his eyes however weren't that of sadness, but of happiness. Of _pride_. 

"Congratulations Anthony," Spot whispered and he could hear the emotions choking him up too. "You're officially a year sober." 

Hearing the words truly did him in. When he first told Spot (in bed. Naked, he might add) that he was going to quit... _everything_ exactly a year beforehand, he wasn't sure he would actually be able to do it. But Spot had never doubted him. He stood right by him throughout it all: helped him discard all his stashes, held his hand when the withdrawal symptoms got too bad, kept his distance when Race's anger lashed out but still held him at night because he just knew Racetrack needed to be held. 

He had almost relapsed a few times, he had his low points, but the only thing that kept running through his mind was Sean. He couldn't disappoint him. 

He wrapped his arms around Spot, bringing himself up to kiss the top of his head. "_Thank you_." 

Both men knew he meant it for more than setting an alarm on his phone. 

"Come on, get up," Spot said, coughing to cover up his tears and sniffling. "I'm taking you to Jacobi's for breakfast." 

Race laughed tearfully at the mention of their favorite place, the very same place he had dragged him to when they first met. They had even gone there after their wedding, one last shared plate of waffles before heading to their new house. He loved Jacobi's, loved the memories he and Spot had there, _loved _their waffles, and yet…

"I don't know," Race coaxed, letting his head fall back onto his pillow and grabbing Spot by the hips. "Breakfast isn't exactly on my mind right now." 

"_ Race, _" Spot cautioned, in that low voice that drove him wild. His breath hitched when Race's fingers dipped under the waistband of his pajama bottoms, grazing bare skin. "I am taking you out to Jacobi's. That's _that_."

He said it in _that_ voice, the voice he had used to bark orders in Afghanistan and used now when Race asked him nicely. He moaned upon hearing it, which definitely didn't help strengthen his husband's resolve.

"That's not _fair_," Racetrack whined, pouting ever so slightly. "You know what that voice does to me!" 

Sean was now definitely blushing, a cute peachy color to his cheeks. "O-Our coffee's gonna get cold," he pointed out, nodding to the two mugs on their bedside table, and Race couldn't help but grin. 

"Coffee can wait," he said, grinning wider when he felt a quite familiar weight press up against his leg. "_ I _can't." He glanced down, nodding in appreciation. "Looks like your friend can't either--" 

Before he could even finish his statement, Spot captured his mouth in a searing kiss that effectively shut him up. The two made quick work of their remaining layers, laughing together like horny teenagers rather than two men who had been together for years. 

Race looked in admiration when they were _finally_ naked, eyes eating up his husband's body with a lot of appreciation. He especially admired the tattoo on his wrist: the day they got married. "God you're beautiful," he breathed out and Spot snorted. 

"You talking to me or my dick?" 

"I can love both of you!" 

Breakfast was indeed forgotten until much much later that day. 

Hanging on their wall (not that either men gave it the slightest bit of attention while preoccupied with completely devoting themselves to each other) was a wedding gift from one Sgt. Jack Kelly-Morris. The two had laughed when they had first drunkenly opened it hours after their wedding, a reminder of how they met. 

It was a framed grainy photo taken from a traffic camera at approximately 7:57 a.m., showing two strangers mere minutes before they would be arrested for "disrupting traffic"

Huh. Who knew that stopping New York traffic to let a row of ducklings cross the street was the best decision Racetrack Higgins would ever make

**Author's Note:**

> Oh Lord, hi!!! 
> 
> If you were not aware, this is also a work made for the pairing Klaus Hargreeves/Dave Katz from the Umbrella Academy (we STAN them) but I loved the work so much that I just HAD to rework it for Sprace. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this, thank you. It means a lot to me. Leave some kudos!!! They're fun! Leave some comments!!! They're even funner and I'm a slut for validation!! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, my loves, until next time!


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